


glitter

by pigeonsatdawn



Series: lonely hearts [1]
Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, so i try to write kym ladell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29884452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonsatdawn
Summary: Everything reflects the sunlight shone. Everything glows gold, and everything hurts to see.
Relationships: William Hawkes/Kym Ladell
Series: lonely hearts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197239
Comments: 26
Kudos: 43





	glitter

**Author's Note:**

> > **“Grief only exists where love lived first.”**
>> 
>> _–Franchesca Cox_
> 
> .
> 
> (the title is referring to the song [**Glitter** by Patrick Droney](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKRNXFmVZRw), but i wrote this while listening to [this sad instrumental youtube playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cZfTIOb0H4) LMAO don’t question it)
> 
> also this is impromptu and effortless don’t expect too much anyway have fun reading

To a passerby, it looks like any fine day. The sun colors the skies golden, casting a sense of airy warmth around the streets. There is life all around; people walking their daily routines and talking to each other about their troubles and little joys; little kids hopping on the cobblestone streets and singing rhythms they share as children; birds flying high and low, sending a breeze of soft air, of nature, of life persisting.

To a passerby who watches, Kym Ladell might have been hallucinating, because she halts in the middle of the street without a trigger, and her face twitches in the slightest. 

But in her head is a much bigger world, a world of her own, and when she looks around she does not just see life. She sees a life that belongs to someone she once knew, someone she once loved.

Everything reflects the sunlight shone. Everything glows gold, and everything hurts to see.

She looks up at the sky, notes the particularly opaque clouds, growing in density, whiter than ever.

Today, she prays for rain.

* * *

Rain doesn’t come, but eventually the sun sets, and all that’s left outside is a perforated deep blue sky. She supposes stars are better than the sun, anyway.

When she notes the darkness, she takes it as her cue to leave. For once, she doesn’t pay mind to who watches her, making it a priority instead to go outside. Just outside. She doesn’t want to go home either, because home brings as much memories as the sun does. She thinks of her sun-lit living room, the melody of the lullaby played on a violin filling the room that smells of traditional home-cooked meals. 

Only one is missing now—but perhaps it’d be better if both were, if  _ all _ were—if she could completely isolate herself from every remnant of the past, she’d take it. 

She wants to run,

and so she does: she leaves the precinct with idle steps, and when she notes that it is dark, that people have turned into their safe shelters for the night, and that only the stars are watching, she runs.

She runs, and gets lost, because she doesn’t remember where anything is. She walks these streets everyday, but she never commits them to memory, 

because remembering hurts,

so she allows herself to get lost, over and over again.

And she lets herself be fascinated when she encounters someplace she loves, which is almost anything. It does not take much to find beauty, to find delight in whatever she sees: any place well-funded is visually aesthetic and she enjoys admiring their beauty, any place crowded brims with the lives of diverse people, and she finds tranquility in watching each one, the different ways they move, the different ways they open their mouths to converse and laugh. Then she forgets, and the next day she gets lost, and finds, and does it all over again.

She runs, crossing over the borders to neighboring precincts a couple of times, not that she realizes it. She discovers new places, and loves, and leaves.

She never holds on to anything long enough. She knows how it ends.

Her hand reaches inside her pocket, pulling out the watch weighing her coat down. Today, she doesn’t open it.

She doesn’t have to. She knows it’s broken. She remembers.

She wishes to forget.

* * *

She is already by the river under the waning moonlight, but perhaps—and though she has never thought deeply of the verity of the thing called fate—life is telling her to rethink her decisions, because she encounters William Hawkes. They are far from the precinct, and Kym wonders how is it possible that they end up all the way here on the same night, each to their own grief.

Deciding her sentiments can wait until she regains some solitude, she pockets the watch. To William, she gives a small smile, but she doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t, either. She thinks he’s also needing some silence, and for once, she doesn’t want to oppose him.

She looks back to the river, the dim lights illuminating the other side by a fraction. She doesn’t know how long she’s been watching when Will begins to take slow strides over to her side, standing by her wordlessly. She gives him a glance, but his face is set ahead, deep in thought.

For once, she is not bouncy on her feet. For once, she stands completely still, and they freeze in time as the river trashes beneath them, the winds blowing harshly.

Her hand is still in her pocket, clenching the watch in her fist tightly. 

Then, she feels a hand over it.

She looks to Will, who takes the watch out of her grasp, before taking out her hand himself. His hands feel like burning coal in the winter night, and she cringes a little at how much her hand is sweating. But he doesn’t mind, and proceeds to intertwine their fingers together, letting their hands dangle between them.

“Don’t throw it,” he says, his voice low and calm, soft and somehow very certain still. 

Kym tries to get some words out of her mouth, but the most she can do is let her lips twitch. She is not surprised he notices. He seems to watch her a lot—she likes to think that it’s because she’s a striking presence he can’t take his eyes off of, though it’s more probably because she has a tendency to cause chaos in whatever she does.

It terrifies her.

“For ten years, my brother disappeared,” Will explains. “And he left nothing but a note. Not a single part of him in sight, nothing to hold on to. He was gone, good as dead, and no one seemed to care. No one seemed to remember he existed, spare for my now sick mother. My father, surely, kept pretending like he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Kym says, voice coming out as a whisper of smoke.

Will shakes his head. “Don’t be. It’s not nothing you can control. What I’m saying is,” he turns to look at her now, “that you still have something of hers to hold on to. So hold on to it. From what you’ve told me, your sister sounds like an amazing person.”

“She is,” Kym chuckles. “I… she’s my biggest role model, someone I could trust my entire life with. I think I even loved her a little more than I did my parents. I was young, and didn’t go along well with parents, you know, those normal parent-child disputes.”

Will nods, rubbing circles on her hand with his thumb. 

He waits.

And for some reason, she wants to talk. Or maybe she’s on the brink of cracking, and she’s scared that if she holds it in any longer…

“But I was also a little… jealous of her, at one point.”

Will’s expression is unchanging, and Kym appreciates that of him. She squeezes his hand a little tighter, forces herself to keep up the easy smile on her face.

“I was the younger one. They compared me to her a lot, and while I love her—she  _ is _ an amazing person, after all—it made me feel underwhelmed. Like I wasn’t important. Not only that, though… even though she’s the most important thing in my life, I… wasn’t hers.”

Her gaze falls from his, and she focuses on the water of the river as it splashes by the walls, how it reflects the moonlight, the way the winds blow.

“I understood, you know. She’s a brilliant cop, one of the best the APD’s ever had. I understood that she prioritized her work, that she prioritized our safety. But I was selfish, and I wanted her to be my sister.”

“You were a kid,” Will reasons gently. “And even now, anyone deserves to want to feel loved.”

Kym lets out a croaky laugh. “I know,” she says, and then her eyes flit to his, and she feels the tears behind her eyes. She sees too that he’s caught her getting teary, because his eyes widen, not expecting  _ her _ to be this vulnerable in front of him. She goes on, nonetheless: “I know, but… I should’ve just told her from the start. I kept it to myself, bottled up the anger, and… and it exploded. I yelled, screamed at her, and I didn’t talk to her for days.”

The tears are pricking on her eyes, so she angles her head to the sky, blinking it away before looking back at Will. He looks at her with a pain so soft, like the unexpected sharpness of teeth against tongue. “I didn’t want to hear her out. I don’t even know if she was heartbroken by my tantrum—I don’t know at all, because in the end, she—”

With a shuddering sigh, she let the tears flow down her cheeks. 

“She was killed on duty. Protecting us.”

“Oh, Kym,” Will exhales, raising his free hand to stroke her head. She looks up to him with a somber smile, the streams flowing out unstopping.

“I just—I just wish there was a way I could’ve told her, you know,” Kym whispers, voice fragile as cobweb. “That I admire her for who she is even if I can never be like her, that I just wanted to spend more time with her. That I’m sorry. That I love her.” She sniffles, and wipes the tears off her face. “If only I hadn’t been so selfish—if only I’d just let down my pride a little, and just—”

She breaks into a sob.

“If you really loved your sister,” Will says, and Kym’s eyes fly wide open in surprise, “you should be remembering your mistake, and learning from it.”

She cannot contain the sharp inhale that shoots down her throat. In anguish, she cries, “I remember her  _ every single day _ , William. I think of her when I see the fucking sun, and I feel like dying. I think of her whenever I put on my uniform, because  _ she _ used to be in one. I think about her whenever I so much as breathe, because—because she’s  _ everywhere _ . I can’t  _ not _ think of her, even if I hate to—it pains me to think of her. And I  _ know _ it’s selfish to not want to think of her. I know, if anything, I should be remembering her in all that I do, but everyday I remember my mistake, and I—” she gasps for air and registers the salty tears flowing down to the corners of her mouth, before continuing: “she makes me hate myself so much, and I hate to think of her so much, and I hate that I hate to think of her because I love her and I don’t deserve to hate her. Not when I—”

“Kym, listen,” Will plants both his hands on her shoulders, effectively stopping her. “You’re not being selfish for  _ feeling _ , Kym. It’s human.”

Kym blinks, and more tears fall out her eyes. She looks at his deep blue orbs, wondering how he looks at her with such tenderness, even when she screams at him—the way she did to her sister, all those years ago. So much anguish, so much venom, 

and yet he stays.

“You’re doing exactly what you regret so much, Kym,” Will says softly. “You’re repressing all your emotions for the sake of selflessness, all your pain, and now you’re exploding.”

Kym’s body begins to shake as more sobs escape her lips in spurts. “Then—then what am I supposed to do?”

“Let yourself feel, Kym. Be selfish. At least, with me, because I, of all people, understand the need to keep up a pretense. We can—we can be selfish with each other, Kym. You don’t have to be alone.”

She looks at him, and for once, she doesn’t think of Daena. For once, she thinks of him—of when they talk under the streetlamp, of when he tells her of himself, lowers down his walls for her, tells her his personal pains.

She wails, and buries her head on his chest. His hands move to envelope her instantly, one resting on her back, while the other stroking her head very gently, very fondly.

It’s been so long—

it’s been so long since she’s felt warmth.

It’s been so long since she’s felt a warmth she doesn’t hide from, a warmth she embraces.

* * *

The sun rises, as it does everytime it sets. From a distance, she watches as William Hawkes walks back towards the front steps of the precinct at the end of their patrol, his golden hair gleaming under the bright sun of noon, and lets herself admire it so unabashedly.

He catches her staring, and lets out an amused smile. “Are you suddenly no longer repulsed by my presence?”

“Are you injured?” She asks back, in regards to the minor altercation he encountered earlier. He shakes his head, affirmative.

“Since when do you concern yourself with my wellbeing?”

They walk at a slow pace, matching each other’s footsteps. “Since you began drooling all over your paperwork. Haven’t you noticed? I thought I’d make a quite good babysitter.”

William scoffs. “Alright, little star.”

Kym raises an eyebrow.

“You know, you may view your sister as the sun in terms of how the earth revolves around her,” Will tells her. “But the world is much larger than the earth, and the sun, too, is nothing more than a star. You can be a star of your own. A little, bright star.”

“Now isn’t that touching,” Kym teases, but Will doesn’t falter, chuckling along with her. Then, she says, “Don’t stars eventually die?”

Will looks at her. “They do, yes.”

“Just like us.”

“When stars die,” Will mentions, “they just lose their light, but they don't disappear. They’re still there, but we just can’t see them with the naked eye.”

Kym nods. “And who knows how long we have until we die, right?”

Will eyes her curiously.

She lets out a heavy sigh, turning to look at him. “What I’m trying to say is, if we die any day soon—which seems increasingly probable these days, really, with our jobs as officers and whatnot—i just want you to know that… uh, maybe I don’t hate you as much as you think.”

It takes a while for Will to process it, but after a while, the corners of his lips quirk up. “Maybe I don’t hate you as much as you think, either.”

“Maybe I find your stupid face a little handsome, too. And you smell too good to be true.”

“And maybe I find you adorable when you’re drunk.”

At this, Kym blushes. “We do not speak of that.”

“Like hell we aren’t,” Will snorts. “You put me through hell and back, the least I can do is mention all your hysterical antics, like—”

“I will, without hesitation, kiss you for real if you don’t stop talking about drunk me,” Kym threatens, taking a step closer to him—though she might have slightly overestimated herself, because her face falls much lower than his, and she has to crane up her neck to look at him.

Will only smirks, and it infuriates her as much as it sets butterflies in her stomach. “You just really want to kiss me, do you?”

“And if I do?” she challenges. “And if I choose to be selfish, as you’ve told me to be?”

He grabs her by the chin, and takes her lips in his.

“Then, in that, too, you are not alone.”

She grins, and casts a brief glance at the sun. It blinds, but she keeps her gaze.

Today, she prays—

she prays that Daena will forgive her—

that her sister will be proud of her.

**Author's Note:**

> i was going to write a more detailed kym-introspection with the same plot, but i saw an ig post on writing grief, and i’ve been feeling a bit kym-like lately (at least, my characterization of kym), and i was listening to that youtube sad music compilation, and i was like fuck it and wrote this in like, two hours? yeah. anyways.
> 
> thanks for reading, all the love 💖


End file.
